


Misfire

by idiosyncraticWordsmith (literaryAspirant)



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Self Harm, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 02:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15831540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryAspirant/pseuds/idiosyncraticWordsmith
Summary: Merrill goes out for some time by herself, delves into dark places, makes some poor choices to make herself feel better - and maybe gets a little too trigger-happy when someone comes to check up on her.





	Misfire

Merrill took in a deep breath of the cold mountain air. It reminded her of times gone by. Forests with trees that seemed to pierce the sky, air that woke you up. This air was different. The sky was clear. There were no trees along the Wounded Coast. The air tasted of salt water and blood, mixed together in portions that changed with each gust off the sea. It felt almost caustic to her. But it was all she had, and it still made her think of her home - or at least her people.

Home. People. Neither felt like words she had a right to anymore.

She knew she risked running into all kinds of things here. Tal-Vashoth, raiders, Dalish rangers. None of which would be good, but she trusted herself to be able to deal with any such threat. Except maybe other Dalish… she didn’t think she’d be able to fight her own clan. Or what had been her clan.

But it was crucial to her to have this time. To be away from the city, out of the alienage. Back to the wilderness, such as it was. Where she felt unburdened, unjudged, unbeholden to anyone but herself. Where nobody would persecute her.

She reached her arm out. Saw the scars crossing it. Felt certainty in them, or at least tried to. Her fist clenched as she recalled the pain each slit had brought her when they were made. The fear edging her every thought. The determination to do the right thing, no matter what it took. The power every drop won her.

She took her knife from her belt and opened her veins again with a swift motion. No magic this time. Just to feel the blood dripping, the power in it, the assurance it brought. To remind her of what each cut was for - for her people, for her heritage, for her future. It didn’t feel like it was enough, so she made another cut. Then some to match on the other arm. They suddenly added up. More than she needed. More than she wanted, maybe.

She told herself it was all for the best. She still felt tears welling in her eyes. Her heart breaking into pieces, into shards…

A snapping sound. Footsteps.

She didn’t stop to think about who it might’ve been. She turned and snapped her staff and let loose a blast of ice, shouting in surprise, partially frightened herself, partially out of some instinct to frighten her attacker.

By the time she recognized who it was, he had already taken a bolt of ice to the chest.

Fortunately, Garrett was wearing his armor - of course he was, this was the Coast. Light as it was, it was enough to protect him. It did nothing to calm Merrill as she frantically dashed over to her lover’s side and threw herself down onto the ground to examine him.

“Hawke! Hawke, Hawke! Ma vhedan, please, be ok!” She whimpered.

“Merrill, Merrill, I’m fine, it’s alright,” Garrett mumbled back, his wind knocked out of him by the hit.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Merrill continued whimpering, her voice high and squeaking through her tears. She was on the verge of downright hysterics at this point. She knew exactly how this was going to play out. He was going to hate her. See her as a monster. This was the breaking point. She knew he didn’t entirely approve of her blood magic, she knew he didn’t completely approve of her… personal project, she knew that his patience was already being constantly tested, and now it would fail. He would hate her and abandon her and never have anything to do with her and she would live all of her life alone with nobody.

“Merrill…” Garrett said, his voice returning to him. 

This was it. The tirade. The lecture. The broken heart.

“Merrill, your arms…” Garrett finished.

Merrill looked at him funny, then realized her arms were smeared with her own blood, and were still bleeding fresh. She was dazed at how many cuts there were. Had she made all of those just now? It all felt like a blur.

“Ma vhedan…” Merrill whispered through the tears. Even with a bolt of ice to the chest, he was still more worried about her. She was such a blight upon him…

“Who did this to you? What happened?” He asked, sitting up now. “Merrill, you’re crying, what happened? Are you OK?”

Merrill couldn’t speak, not through the tears, not through the misery. Not through the… the hatred. The hatred she felt for herself, for everything she had done. She felt completely and utterly alone. Or at least like she ought to be.

And yet she felt calm, warm hands upon her arms, applying bandages. Of course he had bandages. He was always prepared. And they were doused in healing potives. Merrill hadn’t even recognized that she was in pain, but instantly felt her arms feeling better. She looked up a bit, and saw his eyes fixed on her arms, before he glanced up to her and locked eye. His gaze was gentle, but concerned. She felt a new wave of tears coming. How could she worry such a noble man like this? How could she waste his time like this?

“I noticed you were missing from your house,” Garrett explained. “I figured you had come out here. I know how much you like getting away from everything now and again. I wanted to let you have your privacy, but I had gotten a bad feeling. I wanted to at least make sure you had company, in case something happened.”

“Oh, you… you…” Merrill tried to find the words, but she hadn’t yet gotten to that point. Once he was done bandaging her, she merely threw her arms around him and held him tight. Part of her yelled that she should’ve have dared to hold onto a man like him. How wrong it was. Shemlin and elvhenan, noble and outcast. Good man. Bad woman.

And yet her heart felt so stilled by the sensation of him wrapping his arms back around her. He asked no more questions, made no demands, gave no lectures. And he was gentle, soft. She knew how coarse he could be, how strong he was, what years of fighting and killing had made him, and yet those arms that had the strength to pierce armor and slit throats made her feel more safe than all the blood magic in the world.

“Please let me help you, Merrill,” was all he whispered to her, high above the roaring fury of the sea.

“You can’t, Hawke… I’m sorry, you can’t…” She responded, her words finally coming back to her. “Nobody can help me… I’m so lost and alone and all I have is myself…”

Garrett held her tighter. There was some of the coarseness, but it was still warm, still kind. Desperate, almost.

“Merrill, you will  _ never _ be alone while I draw breath. I don’t care who I have to kill, demon or man or elf or mage or templar, or what the cost is in gold or time, or how far I have to walk or travel. I will always be at your side, and I will always do what I can to help you in anything and everything you do,” he promised. “No matter how many times you shoot me.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. There was his charm. Garrett Hawke was a complex man. Killer, lover, joker. Even if she didn’t get all of his jokes, he never failed to make her smile. Even through the tears.

“I love you…” Merrill whispered, suddenly feeling exhausted after the ordeal. “I would like help getting home now. I am so tired… from the tears, I suppose. Or perhaps the blood loss. That also may be it, I think. But it wasn’t that bad! I promise. Well, it might’ve been bad, but I didn’t mean for it to be-- I’m rambling.”

“Come on,” Hawke said, helping her to her feet and aiding her as they walked. “I’ll help you get home. If you can - if you want - I would like for you to tell me what happened.”

“Oh, Hawke… I don’t even know if you want to hear all that…” she said softly.

“I might not like hearing it, and if i’m honest I have some ideas as to what happened,” Hawke told her, his eyes glancing at her arms and the bloodied knife on her belt, “but I want to hear it anyway, because I want to make sure it never happens again. I love you, Merrill. And this is what loving you means to me.”

She paused at that moment and stared at him. Then, grabbing his head, she pulled him into a sudden and forceful kiss for a moment. Their lips parted, and they stared at each other again for a moment.

“That was… not planned out, I don’t know why I did that,” she declared. “Blood loss. Definitely blood loss that time. I should get home now.”

Hawke laughed and resumed helping her walk, and as she felt his gentle hands guiding her steps, she knew that it wasn’t the blood loss that motivated her.

It was a love she had no words for. The kind that stood by her, bandaged her, listened to her, made no demands and let her walk at her own pace as she limped home. Even when she shot it with magic.

She decided not to go out alone anymore. And to keep her blood where it was needed.


End file.
